


Darkest time, Darkest self

by magiclaud



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Human, Apocalypse, Bottom Arthur, Brainwashing, Dark! America, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Evil America, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Loss of Identity, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Limbs, Loss of Powers, Loss of Trust, M/M, Manipulative! America, Paranoia, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Top Alfred, Torture, Twisted! America, USUK - Freeform, Zombie Apocalypse, dark usuk, possessive! America, yandere! Alfred, yandere! America
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 19:26:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10600632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magiclaud/pseuds/magiclaud
Summary: And when the darkest hour strikes upon humanity, so does the sugary obsession only fools would mistake for love. US/UK. Apocalypse au.





	

ACT I 

Arthur pushes his way through the path, cutting down the green creepers that seem to grow in the woods. He runs in a rapid manner in order to catch up with Gilbert, without letting go of Peter’s hand. The young chap is tired, he’s noticed, and it pains him to know the very little he can do now about it. 

“Stay together. Follow me,” he hears Gilbert command. The Prussian’s sense of orientation always seemed to be stronger, so he complies the order. Striding down near them they can see a couple of walkers, oblivious to their presence. Gilbert makes a motion to hunt them down, but Arthur restrains him from doing so. 

“We can’t waste time,” the blond says. Gilbert frowns but absents himself from commenting anything as a harsh sound enters through their ears. Their worried eyes collide, and Arthur feels dizziness rise upon him by instants. 

“They’re near.”

Arthur is going to take a look at the others when a huge bang startles them. The Brit instantly slows down, followed by the rest of the crowd. They’re close. Too close. 

He crawls to a group of bushes and makes a sign to the others. Then, Arthur holds his breath, while feeling shivers run through his spine. 

Bang. 

«Fuck.» Arthur jumps involuntarily, and when Michelle touches him in a gest of reassurance he becomes aware of just how much he’s shaking. Arthur hopes Gilbert won’t see the motion in the depths of his prideful soul, but he knows that isn’t the worst part of the situation. 

He hears footsteps. There must be around ten or twelve people, probably armed. 

 

Arthur feels someone breathing on the back of his neck. He wishes he could turn around but, right now, he would not take the risk. Arthur isn’t a fool. He knows pretty well they are in a scarce situation, yet he refuses to give up. Not only because of him but because of everyone else —everyone else that, to some extent, are risking their own lives in order to save a miserable soul like Arthur’s. 

Someone clears his throat then. Arthur knows that person isn’t from his group, and immediately feels a thrill run through his body. The Englishman holds his breath. 

“Hey. I know y’all here. Please, guys, let’s talk about this —back, in our camp, where we’re safe. Let’s discuss it all after a good meal, heh? How does that sound? Y’all must be hungry,” Arthur knows his stomach is probably growling and closes his eyes in a manner to forget about the temptation while petting Peter’s hand. He is not going to doubt at this point. And like hell he’ll go back to that living nightmare. 

 

No one responds, and Arthur feels rage slowly bubbling on the chief. 

 

“Okay, ya wanna leave? That’s fine, really —that’s, that’s fine. All right. We can even give ya food, and we don’t have to cross each other’s path ever again,” Alfred is nearer this time, and appears to speak louder by moments. “’elle, Yao, Lukas… I know ya’re good folks, and you also want peace. And I promise I’ll never bother ya again. Everyone will be happier then, hah?” Arthur doesn’t believe, and prays the others won’t either. There is a moment of unsettling silence until Alfred speaks again. 

“Ya’ll just have to give him to me,” his words come casually, even though there are no doubts at this point about the calculated undertone that comes with them. No one seems surprised in the least: The Chief’s true intentions and the object of his affection were never a mystery, after all. 

Alfred takes a step forward and crashes his feet on some leaves nearby. Then, he sighs. 

“Arthur, I’m sure this is just a simple matter about a bad understanding of something or whatever, but ya don’t have to be that way. Please, just —just say something, Artie. So we can talk about it and figure everything out. Come on, hon. I need you. And I’m so so sorry if I did anything to offend you.”

Arthur bites his tongue and tries to control the tears of anger forming from his eyes. The git —he probably would’ve forgiven him not so long ago, when everything was pink despite the darkest hour of the world. Arthur wishes to return to those days of sweet ignorance. But he can’t, so he stays still. Alfred growls in anger. 

“I never thought ya’d be that selfish. You know damn well what’s going to happen, don't cha? And so, ya don’t care. All right. You know the punishment traitors get ‘round this valley. And thieves. Dirty, lying, thieves!” someone fires a gun several times at the black sky. Arthur covers his mouth from screaming, and feels Peter staying close to him in search for comfort. 

“Bring’im. Let them know what happens to traitors,” Alfred commands, and Arthur shivers in anticipation, aware of the current situation. Next to Alfred’s group, a Japanese man covered in blood stands on his knees. Arthur’s eyes search Yao’s, who stares blankly at the scene. 

“That’s Kiku there. He betrayed us –he gave you food instead of telling me ya’re intentions, and then he tried to run away with all of you. Too bad he got caught,” Alfred snickers, going into a good mood again, and Arthur feels like vomiting. “I’m going to kill him now, ‘kay? I’m gonna cut his throat and spill his blood all over the woods, and then I’ll chop his head off and put it right there as a fucking trophy. And it will all be because of you —because of you, Arthur Kirkland! Because you’re such a coward who can’t even protect his own kind! And because every single one of these people ya promised to protect is going to die tonight! And ya ain’t gonna do shit!” another bullet is heard, and Yao stands up, trying to shoot Alfred, but to no avail. Kiku falls on the ground, and Alfred’s men are now aiming at them. Peter lets out a cry as panic possesses the others. Desperate shrieks full of fear govern the space. Arthur screams. 

“Run!” he tells his group, and starts to follow his own command. There is no going back. 

More firing is heard. 

“Zigzag!” Arthur yells again. “Zigzag, so the bullets won’t land on you!” 

Arthur can’t even look at anyone. He knows Yao hates him now, and he does not blame him for it. On the other hand, he knows Alfred’s words are landing on Peter’s young mind and is scared of it. 

Arthur knows just how easy it is for someone like Alfred to control other’s thoughts like that. 

 

They find their way through the woods, rapidly avoiding having to confront the few walkers that are there. 

Another bang. This time so close Arthur is obliged to turn, and focuses his eyes on Gilbert. The poor man is crying of terror, with pools of blood coming from his knee. Guilt invades Arthur, and he lets go of Peter’s hand, kneeling beside the Prussian. Then, he helps Gilbert go on his feet again, balancing the other man’s weight. 

 

When he looks in front of him he cannot distinguish anything other than green. Frankly, he doesn’t care. Gilbert and he start to slow down, and then something happens. 

 

A bullet runs through Arthur’s shoulder, and he instantly falls down. 

“Run, run!” he ordered Gilbert, who stays still. “I’m fine, I can stand. Just run!” Gilbert does as he is told, limping. Arthur pulls up, but quickly falls again. He feels paralyzed. Tears come from his eyes, and he lets out a sob. Arthur tries to run again, but he feels to dizzy for it. The blond is sure he’d lost some important amount of blood, and starts feeling anxious as he doesn’t know where to go. There are no signs, everything’s blurred, and the others seem to be so far away. 

 

Bang. Another hole is formed in his body, although this time is his ankle. Arthur ultimately falls, and senses a figure trying to make him lie down. Something sharp is put on his neck, and he feels a substance run through his veins. 

 

Arthur can’t help but to close his eyes. In the safety of his mind, he wishes everything would be just a nightmare. 

 

 

ACT II 

 

The colours of the sunset light up their path while Arthur indicates his horse to continue at a slower pace. Francis and Tino do the same, without question. Arthur snorts, seeing his French friend have troubles in controlling the horse. Arthur gets closer to Francis, and helps him gain confidence over the animal. Francis, however, only shrugs. He is probably jealous Arthur is a better horseman than him and doesn’t want to admit it. For some reason, Arthur finds the thought amusing, as he gestures them a direction and the three men find their way through the woods until arriving at a group of tents, protected by two people, each of them with some sort of weapon. Arthur looks at Tino. 

“You did say they were friendly, right?” he says, suddenly feeling a little unsure. Tino nods. 

“I met Berwald, one of them, near the river. He seemed nice. He told me their group is small; just him, a Danish guy and two brothers.”

“But they speak English, right?” Francis sounds preoccupied. Arthur laughs. 

“Like you’re one to talk, frog,” he makes his way through the woods and takes a look at the camp. Then, he focuses his sight on the two gentlemen. “Hello! Are you busy there?” 

One of the men turns around and points at him with a gun. Arthur holds his breath, but does not show his nervousness. He’s learnt the best way to handle foreigners is to pretend everything is under his control. 

 

“Who are ya?!” the man yells back. Arthur quickly notices the man’s high timber, and wonders if he’s a teenager. The fellow takes some steps to look at Arthur closely and Francis steps in. 

“My friend does not mean to upset you, mate. My name is Francis. Our friend Tino said he met a rather fair gentleman from your camp and we were wondering if you’d like to join our group,” Arthur knows he’s trying his best not to let his thick French accent to slip in, and decides to add something. 

“I know you’d rather be here than go away with some random folks you just bumped into, and you’d be right, but hear me, lad — we’re not dangerous. We are ordinary people, just like you, that have somehow managed to survive this whole mess alive. There —hear me, please, there are more people like us. We found them, and now they’re save in our group. We help each other out, like— like a family, you know. If we seriously want to stand a chance against the dead, we need to be united, won’t you agree?” his palms are sweaty, and he doesn’t even know why. Only when he finishes his rambling does he look at the man he’s addressing to in the eye —and founds two blue orbs staring at him. The lad must be sixteen, seventeen at its top, but Arthur doesn’t care. His whole presence evokes power and warmth. So much it intimidates the Brit. 

 

But then the man smiles, and looks at his group. They all nod in silence. When the guy asks Arthur for his name, he answers him without problems. Alfred —the name the guy introduces himself with— tells him it’s a pretty name, and Arthur can’t help but to blush. When they unite both camps, everyone seems happy. A few months after, Tino and Berwald become officially a couple, and Francis can’t deny to Arthur he’s recently taking a like on Alfred’s brother, Matthew. 

As for Alfred, he’s practically perfect. He helps on cooking and hunting and on missions. And he’s nice. Really, really, nice. With his charming smile and his golden locks of hair. 

 

Everything is perfect. So perfect, Arthur starts to wonder if fate had been by his side all along. 

A real shame true happiness is a mere delusion. A dangerous delusion. 

 

ACT III 

After some time, they decide to head north —Arthur doesn’t remember who exactly suggested the idea, but it’s content with it anyway. The latter months have passed in a rapid manner, and Arthur can’t quite conceive his group without Alfred anymore. The American is funny and sociable, and Arthur is marvelled as he gets wind of his scavenging skills. Because of this, it’s not strange they start to travel more and more together in missions. Arthur knows Tino doesn’t mind, though: the young man is grateful for his new free time and Arthur is assured he does not feel left behind. 

The first mission on the new territory was originally taken to ranger over the area in search for supplies and maybe groups of survivors. Arthur, on the other hand, didn’t quite imagine the evening would turn out to leave such an incredibly breath-taking scene that even years later he would not be able to take from his mind. 

 

A young man, of approximately seven years old, is standing in the living room of a dusty old house, on his knees. He appears to be staring at something, even though blond locks of hair hide his face. When Arthur takes a step forward, he discovers the tragic reality. 

Two people, one man and one woman, knocked down on the floor, a bullet on both of their heads. 

The kid is crying, Arthur realises. He tries not to surprise the boy, even though the kid jumps when a warmly accented Texan voice is heard over the house. 

“Arthur, ya found something?” 

The little man turns around, revealing a pistol on his hands. Alfred seems to acknowledge the situation as the boy yells at them to leave the house, in a threatening manner. Alfred, surprisingly, doesn’t lose his cool, and instead jerks closer to the boy. 

“There, there —hey, young man, don’t waste the bullets. We just use it on the bad guys, all right?” Alfred says, in a calming tone. 

To their surprise, the child starts shaking as the cries get louder—Alfred automatically takes the gun off him, while Arthur slips next to the boy. He whispers sweet words in his ear, and the boy starts clinging onto him, instantly more keen in talking to them about what had happened. 

When they are in the camp, with Peter save and sound, picking on some flowers, Arthur congratulates Alfred. 

“It was nothing, really, ” Alfred says, although he holds a proud smile on his face. 

Arthur tsks. 

“Don’t underestimate yourself. Who knows what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been there? Peter has gone through tremendously horrible circumstances, even if he’s young. You surely prevented him doing something he’d regret later,” Arthur says. He means it all. He knows Peter is not a murderer, even if the child feels he is. It was an act of a man defending himself —from the beast, the plague that has taken away millions of lives from children like him. 

Alfred nods, staring directly at Arthur now. 

“It must be pretty hard. I mean, I felt I was losing my mind when my momma died, and I was older than him!” he pauses, as if just talking about it is a difficult task for him. “I was the big brother, so I was the one who had to shot her. Right between her eyes. She knew what would happen, but she didn’t want to kill herself. Said it was a sin and just went through all the pain,” Alfred smiles lightly, and Arthur feels the American putting up his masquerade, as to prevent himself from feeling that type of sorrow ever again.

“By the way, do remember it was you who found him —and made him open up, as a matter of fact. Heh, I guess you got the charms and I got the cool,” he jokes, and Arthur can’t help to disagree. 

“Perhaps we make a good team then,” he says and proceeds to step closer to Peter and ask him what flowers he likes most. He senses Alfred’s eyes on his back, and for the first time since chaos took over, he feels somehow protected. 

 

ACT IV  
Since he was a child, Arthur had been curious about life.  
To think, just for an instant, how could some primitive prokaryotic cell develop into something as great as humanity was a thought he found utterly fascinating. 

That’s why he decided to study medicine, he thinks. It wasn’t for the heroic façade of being the saviour of the weak, but out of his mere thirst of knowledge. He wanted to know why things were that way —why did human bodies rot, why some wounds couldn’t be healed, and just how could an individual with a rotten body manage to survive, to stay alive, even if in bed.

In short, Arthur could say he was marvelled by the pure essence of life, by such simple chemical reactions that had composed such complex individuals. Arthur had always been known for his different approach to science, and his teachers always outlined his capacity of reflexion through his essays about similar matters. 

Now, however, none of that is important. 

People don’t care anymore to ask Arthur about any of this. Not at all. They only care that he’s a doctor that knows how to sew wounds, that is too accustomed to seeing death that doesn’t hesitate in picking corpses, and that knows which exact medicine to choose when they scavenge the pharmacy.

 

They just want this —his role. None of Arthur’s thoughts are important anymore. Not when, the only thing others desire, is to survive the hell they’d been thrown upon. 

 

Arthur understands this pretty well the day his eyes collide with some desperate, wincing, blue ones. Sapphires would be jealous of the intensity of his gaze, Arthur thinks before registering what is happening before him. 

Suddenly Arthur kneels to Alfred’s side —some people get nearby, but his entire mind is focused on the American right now. 

Alfred tries to avoid his eyes, but Arthur doesn’t let him. When he grabs the teen by his shoulders, Alfred cannot hold himself anymore and starts sobbing uncontrollably. 

“I’m bitten. I’m bitten, Arthur, I’m —I’m bitten,” The young man says, his face full of distress as he gestures Arthur towards his ankle. Arthur hears someone gasp, but doesn’t turn around. Instead, Arthur’s mind races to every possible situation, and finally starts barking orders to his fellows.  
“Matthias, Francis; hold his arms. Matthew, bring me a knife and a string,” he commands. When he is angry, his British accent slips more heavily on his words, but he doesn’t care about that. They all do as they are told, except Francis. His friend stares at Arthur with a preoccupied expression, so intense Arthur wants to slap him. 

“Arthur, you can’t,” Francis begins. Arthur stands up, and the words he says next are surprisingly calm in contrast with his piercing gaze. 

“It is worth trying, to say the least,” Arthur doesn’t want to be pragmatic about it, but what can he do? This is the first time something like this has happened in the group. Yet here, where they stand, Arthur is the last hope for Alfred. For this boy, this ray of sunshine, for the only cheerful folk Arthur has come across since all this nightmare has started. Soon enough, Matthew brings the tools, and Arthur kneels again to tie the string through Alfred’s leg. The teenager, however, only seems to react when they finally hold him by the shoulders. 

“Arthur, what are you gonna—?” The Englishman shushes the other, holding him by his neck, so close he feels Alfred’s breaths. 

“I’m sorry, lad; but you have to trust me on this,” before Alfred even gets a chance to respond Arthur starts cutting off the limb. Alfred screams and twists, but stops right when he sees he is hindering Arthur’s task. They all wince of the sounds coming from the tissues, and Alfred can’t get a hold of himself and looks the other way. When Arthur arrives at the nerves he tries to cut faster, as he can’t imagine how much pain the young man must be through. They don’t have sedatives on their camp, and Arthur curses himself for it. Arthur knows that, if nothing of this madness works, he’ll have to live the rest of his life with the guilt of putting even more suffering to a soul like Alfred’s.

When he finishes, Arthur starts stopping the bleeding. Matthew, unsurely, kneels by his side, and Arthur is more grateful for the emotional support than for whatever other thing Matthew can help him with. Arthur almost feels good when it ends, until someone tells him Alfred has fainted. He rapidly checks the American’s pulse and, for once, sentiments take over his scientific curiosity about life and he wishes God would just land on Earth to save poor Alfred F. Jones. 

 

The next hours are so painful Arthur doesn’t understand how everyone else can bear them so easily. He asks to be left alone, and everyone seems to follow his command, content with leaving the Chief some time to compose himself after everything that has happened. 

Arthur is so occupied staring mindlessly at Alfred’s body struggling for his life that he doesn’t notice Francis entering the room. The Frenchman offers him a bottle of water, and he accepts because he desperately wants to get rid of the bitter taste of his mouth. They talk a few minutes, Francis telling him it’s not his fault while commenting on Alfred’s qualities. Arthur feels sick in the stomach, because yes, it is his fault. He promised Alfred safety if he joined the group, and now —now, what can he do? Arthur is the leader, the great one, yet he can’t protect even the sweetest man he has come across with. 

Arthur only falls from his trance when someone grasps his hand. Blue tired eyes stare absently at him, and Arthur can’t help himself from hugging the American boy. He holds a strong grip, so harsh as he feels at one minute or another Alfred will be taken away. 

But he doesn’t, oh no. Alfred survives another day, and one more afterwards. At first, everyone looks at him with suspicion, but after a month they begin to conclude Alfred doesn’t oppose a threat at all. 

As for Arthur, everyone thinks he is a magician. He revived a dead man, they say. A bitten man. All opposition people had with him taking the lead is abolished, now that he has demonstrated what he is capable of. Nevertheless, Arthur doesn’t want Alfred to think he has saved him for political intentions, as he feels everything is kind of pointless given the situation they’re in. Thankfully for him, if Alfred holds something new for him now, is respect and admiration. 

Alfred’s changed, Arthur has no doubts about it. He still makes silly jokes, and he still smiles —but it all seems so fake now. Berwald has made a wooden leg so he can walk more easily, and they’ve given him a cane, but Arthur knows Alfred feels like a cripple now. 

Arthur does whatever it takes to ensure Alfred he is not useless and is happy to organize excursions to the woods so the American can adapt himself with his new leg. Alfred learns quickly how to balance, and is even able to run for a few seconds, even though he winces in pain most of the time. 

However, every time Arthur asks him if they should stop, Alfred refuses. He is less extroverted, and seems to hold a large place for his thoughts. He even takes a liking for a table of chess they find in one of the houses they scavenge. 

“Do you even know how to play chess?” Arthur asks humorously, after seeing the mesmerized look of the young man’s eyes to the old game. 

“Not at all, but I want to play. Maybe, sometime, you can teach me, if you don’t mind?” Alfred asks, almost sheepish. This is another of the change in dynamics of their relationship. Now, every time they talk, Alfred seems unsure. He stutters and blabbers and acts too proper, something rare in him. But Arthur feels it’s pointless to comment on it so, instead, he flashes the teen a light smile. 

“I may teach you, and I don’t mind at all. Chess has been my favourite table game either way.” 

“Oh,” Alfred replies, relaxing his tensing pose. “Not checkers?” 

Arthur is grateful everything seems normal again for them. “Checkers are for twats, lad. Remember that.” 

Alfred nods silently, and they both sit to play. As the game progresses, and Alfred becomes a more competitive opponent, Arthur thinks he wouldn’t mind doing this with Alfred more often. Just sitting then, trying to ignore the ugliness of the world, playing a mind game as if things like that still mattered now. 

However, when Alfred moves his king, Arthur stirs. 

“Careful,” he says. “You shouldn’t do that unless it’s absolutely necessary. The king is always the most unstable one.”

And the other listens. 

 

ACT V 

There are certain moments in Arthur’s life where he questions himself what would have happened if he had done something different, and if that something could’ve saved someone else’s life. 

Francis’ death is one of those moments, that hits Arthur as hard as any of his physical wounds. 

Arthur isn’t stupid, of course he isn’t. He knew Francis was weak all along, yet his death takes him by surprise. 

His most twisted enemy, and still his dearest friend, died in one of their scavenge missions. 

Arthur wishes he would have been there to protect him, and blames his own self. In consequence, he isolates himself from the rest of the group. Arthur wants to talk to Tino, but finds it impossible due to the distance their relationship has now. 

 

Alfred, however, is still by his side. And so he acts as a charming, loving, bloke, while Arthur is still in his bubble of self-pity. 

 

“It wasn’t you’re fault, Artie. Ya know it wasn’t,” it doesn’t make Arthur feel better, but he lets the other finish. “I know he was you’re friend, but ya don’t have to feel alone, Francis wouldn’t want that,” Arthur wants to snap that what the fuck does the other know about Francis, but he doesn’t. He knows he’s just upset and he doesn’t want to pay it on someone as Alfred, so he just lets tears roam from his eyes. He’s afraid now. 

 

No one, not even Francis, has seen him cry, but Alfred just holds him close, and nuzzles his hair. Arthur thinks of it as a friendly manner, until he feels Alfred’s hand pressing on the back of his neck, pushing him into the younger’s mouth. Arthur stays in shock a couple of seconds, feeling Alfred’s moist lips against his, but when a tongue demands his entrance through Arthur’s cavities he abruptly pulls away. 

 

“We can’t,” Arthur says. “You… You are too young. You’re mistaking gratitude and a brotherly affection with something else, Alfred. You— You do not love me. Maybe you think you do, despite you don’t even know what a love like that is like to begin with. Please, just… stop it. You know we’d both get hurt.” Alfred listens closely, and for once he does not interrupt. After a pause that seems eternal to Arthur, he speaks. 

“You’re right. Yeah. It’s— that’s true. Sorry if I made ya uncomfortable, heh. That really wasn’t my intention. But, yeah, you’re — ya’re right as always,” he clears his throat, and smiles brightly. Arthur feels his heart aching, but doesn’t move a muscle. 

 

Alfred then leaves, and a reign of confusion takes over Arthur, but for his own sake he decides to ignore it. 

He’s right. Alfred’s just a kid, and Arthur saved his life once, apart from being one of the few people with a similar age as him. It’s not love —it’s just a crush. A stupid, innocent crush. 

Or that’s what he thought. 

ACT VI

Arthur walks calmly inside the walls of their shelter. It used to be a ski station, or that’s what Gilbert told him when the Prussian showed the group the place. Glassy mountains can be seen from the place, reminding Arthur of the imminence of a threat like winter. It’s strange though; he’s not afraid, not like other years. Arthur knows they’re in a fine situation, with plenty of skilled men willing to fight the problems that may come by. 

Also, the fact that Alfred rules side by side with him leaves Arthur with a feeling of comfort and confidence. 

Just when he arrives near the Greenhouse they constructed a few months ago, someone tells him Alfred’s brother wants to talk to him. Arthur frowns a little, as normally the matters are discussed openly at one of the weekly assemblies, but doesn’t object. He walks to the basement of the shelter, where some folks tell him Matthew happens to be in it. 

Arthur enters without knocking, and Matthew jumps in surprise. 

“Hey! Oh, sorry, mate. I didn’t intend on scaring you,” says Arthur, somehow stranged by the gesture. Matthew nods and makes a motion for him to come closer. “They told me you wanted to speak to me,” he uses an interrogative manner. 

“Alfred’s still hunting, right?” Matthew asks, in a quiet voice. “Is he alone?”  
“No, he took Ludwig and Gilbert with him. It’s dangerous to be alone out there,” Arthur answers. “What’s the matter, lad?” 

 

Matthew steps out from his sit, and Arthur sees what seems to be a familiar item. 

“I thought that was broken.”  
“It wasn’t quite broken. We had to change the transmitter and connect it to our source of electricity, so…” Arthur nods, eyeing the radio station. The Brit frowns a little. 

“Do the walkies work?” he asks. Matthew gives him an uneasy look. Arthur doesn’t know what more he can add. “Listen, I don’t understand why you’re showing me this. You know pretty well Alfred and Kiku take charge in matters relative to technology and such. I’m near a caveman in the subject,” he jokes, hoping he can relieve the tension. It doesn’t work. 

“Arthur. Do you remember we found out the radio could also record fragments of audios in the walkies?” 

“Yes. Of course, I’m not that old yet. If I remember correctly, Kiku discovered the function the same week his group settled here.” 

“And… do you… do you remember when we stopped using them?” Matthew continues. Arthur feels his temper filling his insides. 

“What are you trying to say, Matthew? You can be clear with me, no need to play silly games. We stopped using them two years ago or such, after —after Francis’ death,” when he pronounces his former friend’s name, he starts feeling dizzy, now aware of the amount of time that had passed since then. However, he does not show his sudden nostalgic feeling, used to hide his emotions. 

“That’s where I wanted to go. We lost Francis on one of the scavenge missions, right?”  
“Matthew, do not remove the past. It’s not a sane decision to do so.”  
“Arthur, for God’s sake! Listen to me!” Matthew snaps, and Arthur swears he’s never heard the Canadian speak so high. “Listen, just— look at this. I’ve managed to locate the last footage of the radio. Now, do you remember what Alfred told us once he came back alone that day? Then —then stay and listen,” with that sentence, he clicks a few buttons, and something is heard through the gadget. Arthur listens carefully, without leaving the sight of Matthew’s eyes. When it finishes, Arthur feels his throat dry. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he whispers, softly enough so Matthew can hear it.  
“It means someone’s trying to hide the truth,” Arthur’s mind runs rapidly to one person, and he knows Matthew has had to arrive at the same conclusion. 

That night, Arthur comes to have dinner with the group, although he very much had preferred to stay alone on a watch. At least, he thinks then, he could have peace. But instead, he sits with Roderich, and listens to the other’s rambling about the new song he is writing as a way to distract the kids from the sounds of the walkers. Arthur tries to pay attention to him, but he can’t. Not when he feels Matthew’s eyes locked at him from the other side of the room, and not when he spots Alfred walking casually through the indoor greeting the others with the corpse of a deer under his arm in a victorious manner. Arthur hears him joking with Gilbert, and then he knows his whole world is done. 

He asks Alfred if he would mind a walk after dinner, and the sunny blond agrees easily. 

When they finish their respective food, Arthur makes a sign to Alfred and, after taking a last glance into Matthew, they both start to walk through the gates. When Arthur is sure no one can hear them nearby, he begins the conversation. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

“I figured it pretty much. Ya seem upset. Something happened?” Alfred asks, and Arthur finally snaps. He can’t stand the other —just there, talking so casually, as if he didn’t do anything wrong! Arthur feels rage and hatred building inside of him, and can’t control his impulse.

“Just when the fuck did you start to do whatever your idiotic mind said, and not what we agreed to?!” he yells, surprising Alfred, who takes a step back. Alfred doesn’t walk with a cane anymore —he says he doesn’t need it, and his confident poise tells Arthur he is right about it. 

“Hey, dude, calm down, Arthur. Jeez.” Alfred wants to say something else, but Arthur doesn’t let him. 

“You fucking moron!” Arthur says, taking hurried breaths. “When did you lose your respect for me, boy? When did you start to think lying to me was a valid option in all this?!”

“Arthur, I really don’t know what are you talking about,” Alfred says. Arthur fiercely kicks the ground, in an attempt to calm himself down. When his breath returns to his normal self, he stares into the other’s azure orbs. 

“You abandoned Francis,” he says, and he becomes aware of the choking feeling in his chest. Arthur doesn’t want to cry —he really doesn’t, and so he swallows his tears. He feels Alfred shifting close to him, laughing nervously.  
“Ya make me sound like a monster,” he jokes, but his eyes are serious. Arthur swallows in an attempt to clear his throat. 

“You told me you had no option but to leave him behind. You told me some walker came from behind and bit his neck, and you told me he died not much time later because of the blood loss. And now I find out that you betrayed him! That you left him in a bloody dead end! Bollocks, Alfred, he thought —he thought you were going to pick the car and go back, and you left him to die!”

“Arthur, I had no choice! We were starving, that was —that was our only chance to get food and survive, Arthur. Sometimes you have to sacrifice something in order to safe many! So I’m sorry if your lover wasn’t part of the top priorities!” Alfred answers in spite. 

“Don’t fucking try to turn it around! And don’t make it sound as if you’re the victim of this, Alfred, because you bloody aren’t! You’re an ungrateful prick, that’s what you are! And if you’re so sure you did the correct thing then why the hell didn’t you tell anyone the truth? We —we believed you. You told your story and we believed you. Everyone trusted you and the only thing you did was to lie and make up a story because you were too bloody coward to tell the truth.” 

 

“No,” Alfred says in a low voice, and Arthur raises his eyebrow. Alfred takes a step closer. “Do you know why I didn’t tell anyone, Art? All right then, I’m gonna tell ya. I didn’t tell ya shit because I knew ya wouldn’t understand. I’m sorry, Arthur, but it seems like you still don’t know how the world works. Ya can’t expect people to be magically good without some sacrifices.” 

“D-Don’t talk about Francis as a fucking sacrifice!”  
“Why not? He saved more lives with his death than through his whole life.”

That final sentence does it for Arthur. He raises his hand and takes a step closer to Alfred, but the younger stops him before it can reach his face. Alfred holds his wrist in a painful grip, and Arthur tries to fight against it. He can’t help but wonder when exactly did that young boy turn so strong, but other thoughts occupy his mind. 

“Please, just —just calm down for a second, Arthur, and try to look at the truth about things now. I only did it for the sake of our group, for the sake of our people. For the sake of Peter,” he pauses but doesn’t let go of the Brit. “I really wish this wasn’t the way, Arthur. And I fucking wish everything would be just fine, and that there weren’t dead people crawling through the land thirsty for blood, and that we wouldn’t have to see death so closely every day. I fucking wish it, and I pray for it every night. But this is the reality we were doomed to live in,” Arthur stares at Alfred’s eyes, everything around them pausing for a second. Then, he finally dares to speak. 

“Does this mean you would do the same with me?” 

“No, I wouldn’t do the same with you.” 

“Then why the hell do you say that—?” Arthur is interrupted by some lips asking their way through his mouth. Alfred’s tongue takes profit of the other’s words to explore his entrance without restrain. Arthur is shocked, not for the kiss itself, but for the emotions he sees on it. Possessiveness and dominance reigns in the abrupt gesture, so intense Arthur doesn’t even have time to comprehend the totality of the situation. He is so surprised he doesn’t notice the other’s hands starting to crave his slender figure. 

“Mmph,” he can’t help but moan when Arthur feels Alfred’s hands holding his waist, rubbing their crotches together. Arthur feels in the seventh heaven, and wonders just if such an intense feeling is due to the strong emotions he has previously experienced or for the mere fact this is the first sexual intercourse in which he is being involved for years. It doesn’t matter, he concludes. Nor does the fact that this is a dangerous divergence from their discussion, because right now he can only care about the exhilarating pleasure Alfred is filling him. When they finally separate due to their lack of air, Arthur advances to take off his sweater vest. He feels Alfred’s hands on his, helping him with the action while sucking his neck. Arthur moans again as the continuity of the action on that spot leaves his body with lewd hotness, and he wonders how could he feel this warmth in winter. Once he becomes totally shirtless, Alfred starts caressing his chest, with hot breaths against his nipples that leave Arthur in desperate need. 

“Touch me,” Alfred whispers to him before nibbling the older’s ear. Arthur does as he is told and helps Alfred pull off his bomber jacket. Now they’re chest to chest and a gentle breeze invades the space, despite it only makes the couple to come closer to one another. While Arthur starts gently massaging Alfred’s abs, the American returns into sucking Arthur’s neck until leaving a path of bruised spots. Arthur whimpers in pain at a particularly sharp intake, and tries to tell Alfred it’s too much but the other doesn’t seem to listen. Instead, he holds Arthur more strongly and only stops to kiss his bruised lips while giving Arthur a lusty look focused on him. 

“You’re beautiful,” Alfred says, between kisses, “I want ya. You’re mine. I love you,” Alfred pulls down Arthur’s trousers, and starts slowly pumping his crotch. He pinches one of Arthur’s nipples with the other hand, and Arthur knows he is so done. Alfred’s hands feel so good on him, Arthur feels as if he is somehow poisoned by desire. Arthur’s hips wiggle in search for friction, and he feels drowned for the non-stopping words of adoration Alfred dedicates him. In no time Arthur feels he’s ready to release, and feels Alfred grab his base in a delicate motion. 

“You’re mine. Darling, please, say it. Say it for me, sugar. Tell me you’re mine,” Alfred’s kisses are becoming less aggressive, along with his nibbles. Arthur can’t help but wonder if Alfred wants to stop, but quickly feels answered as he senses the larger man’s erection rub his ass as Alfred ultimately pulls down his own trousers. 

“I’m yours, okay? Yes— Oh, yes, I’m yours, only yours…” the pressure his crotch is exposed to is too much and Arthur cums. He doesn’t even register Alfred cumming too, but he knows the sunny blond did it because he can feel his ass sticky. Alfred hugs him close to his body and starts nuzzling him. Arthur feels butterflies in his stomach —no one, not even one of his longtime lovers, has ever taken care of him like that. Arthur wonders for a second what he’s done to deserve something like that, and when his eyes find Alfred’s he can’t help to be grateful to whatever deity has done this possible. 

“I love you, Arthur. I’m not a kid, and this is not some stupid crush —it never was, believe me. I’ve really been trying to control it, but I can’t. I can’t, Arthur. Please, be mine, Arthur. I love you. I care about you. Ya’re perfect to me, so please, please, forgive me,” Alfred is crying now, and Arthur doesn’t know what to do next. He holds his hand on Alfred’s chin and kisses him in his temple, sitting up a little bit. 

“I forgive you, Alfred. But please, don’t —don’t lie to me again, not to me, all right? Just don’t ever do that again,” he says, and chokes in his own words. Alfred nods, and they both kiss for what it seems like centuries. 

Alfred’s next words become forever written in Arthur’s mind, along with the roller-coaster that comes later. 

“I promise I won’t.”

ACT VII

 

The night has risen upon the mountains. Fortunately, there are few walkers around, as the ice seems to freeze them. It should be a fine day, but sadly things don’t work that way. At the shelter, loud voices full of fury and spite are thrown, one interrupting the other. The meeting is a mess. Most people are in bed, though, pretending to sleep, as this was supposed to be a special assembly for the “council”, as they have called it. But despite the larger number of people united, there are only two voices talking, from two of the oldest members of the group 

“How can’t you not understand something as simple as that?!” Alfred bursts, after finishing his line of argument. Arthur quickly replies.  
“How can you be so foolish? This is a safe place; I refuse to fill it with people like him!”  
“Arthur, listen…”  
“No! No— Listen you, to me. I’ve talked to ‘his people’, and guess what? They all say the same thing. Ivan is dangerous. A savage that creeps out his own people, that brainwashes them into thinking following him is the only legitimate choice! God dammit, look at Toris! Look at the bruise on his neck, Felix said he almost choked him! I am not letting him in my camp. No. I… I utterly refuse,” he lets a quick breath, and looks at Alfred straight in the eye. Alfred, who remained sit until this moment, stands up. 

“I think the trees don’t let ya see the forest in this situation, because you clearly don’t see what’s goin’ on. Ivan apologised, and he asks for a second chance. Here. Okay, he can be eccentric or whatever, but he knows how to hunt. And he has weaponry, something we don’t. Do you really want to be involved in a war with that guy?” he asks, in a much gentler tone. Arthur takes a step closer. 

“So we’re suddenly afraid of him? We outnumber him, Alfred, and his own people have been admitted to our camp. They’re happy now.”

“Well, not for much time! I know this kind of people. Some bunch of happy-go-lucky useless folks. One minute they’re all right and the next they want a revolution. Come on, Art! Even ya must think something’s off with that!” he exclaims. 

“And since when exactly did we start to admit people based on their utility?” 

“Since we started to starve ourselves because everyone’s afraid of goin’ outside without guns!” They stop for a second, and silence invades the room. Arthur looks at the others —at his people, and just knows they wouldn’t be safe with someone like Ivan sleeping next to them. He wants to say something, but Alfred interrupts him. “Okay, and what do y’all think? Everyone, let’s vote then.” 

“Now? We can’t now,” says Arthur, confused. Alfred raises his eyebrows. 

“Why not?” 

“Well, maybe because it’s only us. A true votation would require to wake up the others.” 

“We’re the council. And most of the others don’t even care. They just sit there, sleeping and wasting our resources. Technically speakin’, they are as worth as a dog on this circumstances,” Arthur wants to reply, he wants to say that the council was established to take decisions on matters like food rationalizing and safety, not in who enters their borders or not. He wants to say that everyone has the right to give an opinion about what they think of the decision of having a former dictator passing their borders, but everyone seems to bluntly accept the point of the American. Arthur openly scowls at him, but the other doesn’t seem to take a hint on it. “Well then, let’s vote,” everyone keeps silent during a few seconds, until a figure passes through the mob and pronounces his vote. 

Yao votes for admitting Ivan. Arthur growls, but no one comments on it. Matthias does it, too, but soon enough Ludwig steps out and tells openly how stupid that decision seems to him. Gilbert agrees with his brother, also causing Elizaveta to contradict the latter just for the sake of it. Then Matthew, as Arthur thought, tells Alfred he’s also against the idea, but Berwald says he’s for the cause, justifying his actions through the hunger everyone is experiencing right now and the amount of food Ivan is willing to share. Arthur smiles as he sees Toris, their new acquisition, open his mouth. But the words that exit from his voice are so much different from the ones Arthur had in mind. 

“I’m for admitting Ivan.” 

“What?” Arthur snaps, but Alfred is more quickly. The American claps his hands to make everyone pay attention to him. 

“Well, guess that settles it then. I’m sorry we had so much opposition to it, but thanks for everyone who’s supporting the right thing. Liz, Berwald, come with me! Let’s get the Ruskie out of the cold!” Alfred smirks, and the others do as they are told. Arthur quickly walks until Toris, and looks at the other. 

“What was that? You told me you didn’t want him here!” The Brit snaps. He sees Toris jump in fear. 

“I’m… I’m sorry…”

“Toris, man, we could’ve… we could’ve let that guy rot in the cold! Why… Why didn’t you…? He almost killed you,” now he’s speaking softer, aiming not to scare the Lithuanian. 

“It wasn’t that bad. And we had food, you know. Maybe Alfred’s right and everyone overreacted a little bit with that. Maybe we did blame Ivan for the circumstances when in fact he’s a good leader,” he tries to reassure Arthur with a smile, but the Brit isn’t buying it. 

He can just anticipate what will happen later on. 

 

ACT VIII

With the pass of time, winter finally is just a bad memory on Arthur’s history. They’ve survived to it, so that makes them strong. Or, at least, that’s what Alfred says. 

On the other hand, Ivan apparently has found his way in the group. He is friends with Ludwig now, and seems to be in a friendly manner with Yao, Liz, and Berwald. He even takes interest on the gadgets Kiku is working on, earning him one of the sweet smiles from the Asian. 

 

And, of course, he is friends with Alfred, too. It’s strange, though, as Alfred seems to change drastically when talking to Ivan. Arthur has no actual clue of what they talk, and when he sees the pair he merely shrugs and tries to do focus on another task. He doesn’t know if that feeling is simply jealousy, or if it is mostly influenced by the fact Ivan and his new crowd seem to take pleasure on demonizing Arthur, highlighting the fact that, without Ivan, the group would have ended starving themselves to death. It didn’t help the fact Alfred has actually invited Ivan into the council, so every time Arthur walks into a meeting he has to stand glares from others, as if he is not welcome there. 

That’s another thing he hates —the council. That stupid council. Alfred apparently found that there was room enough for Ivan, but conveniently decided to cut Matthew and Gilbert, leaving Arthur with very few supports in there. Now, Arthur just talks to Gilbert when they have watches together, accompanied with what seems like a never-ending bottle of rum Gilbert seems to take everywhere. They drink very little, just to warm themselves up, and they talk. Gilbert talks a lot, while Arthur limits on nodding or replying when he feels too bored. 

“So,” Gilbert clears his throat, in an attempt of making small talk. “How was the council today?” 

“Didn’t Ludwig tell you?” Arthur asks, bored. 

“Nobody tells me shit anymore.”

They stay silent for a moment, and Arthur finally decides to answer the question.  
“Starting tomorrow, children will be taking watches. Ivan says now there aren’t most walkers, plus there will be more adults for hunting,” Arthur explains briefly. “Oh, and they’ve admitted that weird Spanish guy we found in the East excursion as part of the council. The spig apparently knows how to hunt and has made a map of routes where we can find resources.”

“I see. Does he have any flaws?”  
“His partner, Lovino —I think that’s his name. A violent fellow with superiority complex.”  
“Aren’t they all like that?” Gilbert smirks. “Heh, lemme kill that walker. At least like that I won’t feel useless.” 

Arthur nods, and tells him not to waste any bullets. Gilbert strikes the lurker down and returns to his place. 

They look at the sky, and Arthur sighs. Gilbert notices this. 

“Why does everything suck so much?” the Prussian asks. Arthur shooks his head. 

“No idea, man.” 

“Ivan hates your guts. You know that, ja?” Arthur merely shrugs. “He hates me too. I can feel it. He was the one that convinced Alfred to ditch us. You know, everyone that doesn’t agree with him. Well, everyone but you.” 

Arthur nods, because there’s no way on denying something like that. 

“Alfred’s changed.” 

“You think so? Birdie told me the same thing a few days ago,” Gilbert comments. “Everything has gone to hell. I mean, why the fuck I don’t have the right to eat a fucking chocolate bar but Berwald and Matthias do? That’s… That’s not fair at all.” 

“I wish you’d be in charge again, Limey. I mean, sure, you were fucking bossy, but at least you listened to people. And you had good ideas, too,” Arthur feels as if he has to say something else after being flattered until he hears Gilbert finish, “A shame you’ve been degraded on being Alfred’s whore now.” 

 

Arthur turns into a shade of red, embarrassment crawling upon him. “Who said that?” he asks, because never, never once over his relationship —or whatever it was— with Alfred they have publicly admitted their activities on bedroom. Gilbert snorts at him. 

“Russki calls you a cheap ‘šalava’ all the time. Besides, you think I’m that lame? I’ve been with you time enough to figure it out. Also, haven’t you seen the way the American hero looks at you?” 

“Gil, he’s a kid. I can’t believe you think he’s in love with me.” 

“I never said he was,” The Prussian replies. Despite his usual mocking tone, now he’s using a more serious register. “I don’t think someone like that can love. He’s so selfish. Haven’t you noticed it? That’s why Ivan and him get along so well. In the end, they’re both the same.” 

“That’s not true,” Arthur defends the American, even though the other isn’t even there. Gilbert laughs sourly. 

“Come on, Limey, you can’t be that dense. They both think they’re better than anyone, and that every single other being is a tool of their use. A puppet. A soulless doll, or whatever. Don’t get me wrong, you’re certainly special to Alfred —but in what way? As a human being or as a nice cute fuckhole?” Arthur finally steps into Gilbert’s space and throws the bottle to the floor, breaking it into a thousand pieces. Gilbert yells at him. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Arthur doesn’t respond. The blond man merely looks at the clock on his wrist, and walks away from the Prussian, after turning and telling him his shift is over. 

Arthur shooks his head while walking to the shelter. He wasn’t that much friends with Gilbert, anyway, so it’s not a great loss. 

 

ACT IX

 

Arthur is lying in his room when he feels some foreign weight on his mattress. He flutters his eyelids, just to be welcomed by the sight of Alfred F. Jones. The younger man isn’t wearing his spectacles, and a raspy beard seems to be growing in his face. It isn’t really noticeable, and Arthur probably wouldn’t be aware of it if Alfred wasn’t inching closer by moments. 

“Hey, beautiful.”

Arthur scowls at him. “Where were you?” he asks, when Alfred rolls over the bed grabbing Arthur’s waist and starts kissing the Brit’s neck. 

“Busy with Ivan,” the American replies. “Ya’re jealous?” he sounds amused. Arthur notices then that he’s slurring his words a little bit. He frowns. 

“Have you been drinking?” he whimpers when Alfred starts unbuttoning his shirt, and squirms underneath him. “Get off me!” 

“But I’m horny,” Alfred says in a teasing tone. He caresses Arthur’s contours, finally arriving at his cock. Then, Alfred starts palming Arthur’s crotch, while whispering dirty promises to him. Arthur gasps when Alfred unzips his pants and lets free the older’s shaft. The touch is determined and possessive, and Alfred knows exactly where to press so Arthur can feel excited. Arthur suddenly feels bad, as he falls into the realization that Alfred is touching him like a musician would during the practice of their instrument. There’s nothing spontaneous of the gestures in Alfred. Arthur shivers when he remembers the words that not too long ago started to roam over his thoughts. 

‘You’re a whore’

 

“I love you,” his warm hands are still pumping Arthur’s crotch, paying attention to any gasp coming from the smallest. He stops then, and Arthur knows what he has to do. It’s always the same. A gesture so simple…

‘A tool of his use’ 

Alfred bites him everywhere he can. He nips and licks his neck, on the exact spots where he knows Arthur feels most pleasure on. The sensation is so overwhelming Arthur doesn’t notice Alfred has started fingering him. But when something brushes hard against his prostate, he becomes fully aware of the situation he’s been involved. 

‘You’re just his doll’ 

 

Arthur can’t take it anymore, and he rapidly pushes away Alfred. The motion takes the American by surprise, so Arthur is capable of standing up and get up his pants. He is panting, flushing in a deep shade of red, while Alfred raises his eyebrows. Arthur breaths heavily, and Alfred stands to reach him. 

“Darlin’—”

“Don’t —Don’t touch me. And listen to me when I tell you to leave me alone. I wasn’t in the mood!”

“Well,” Alfred eyes him carefully, from head to toe, and Arthur feels a shiver running through his spine. “You certainly are now.” 

Arthur stays still. And he doesn’t realise he’s crying until Alfred points it out, questioning the reason for his tears. Arthur can’t take it anymore. 

“Stop doing that. Stop pretending that you care about me, because you don’t. And stop pretending that you respect me and you want my well-being when you are just an egoistical prick!” he snaps. 

“Excuse me?” Alfred sounds angry. Arthur laughs bitterly. 

“You heard me. This —whatever it is, I don’t know anymore, is over! Go and ask Ivan or Antonio if you want to fuck so badly, but don’t bother me with your shit anymore!” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Arthur? You’re mine, I told you, and you know what? You said you were also mine! You can’t —You can’t leave me!!” he forces Arthur to sit on the bed, much to the other’s discomfort. Arthur tries to shake him off, but to no avail. 

“I never was yours! I am whatever I want to be! And I don’t want to be in this stupid arrangement anymore, so let. Me. Go!” 

“You can’t leave me! You said… You said you were mine! You said you were mine, only mine! Mine, mine, mine!” Alfred climbs on top of Arthur, preventing the other to go away. Arthur’s pants fall down, as the American shakes Arthur’s shoulders. “Sunshine, say that again. Say you’re mine…” 

“What do you fucking want? You have everything now! You’re the chief now, and I… Do you know what I am? I am nothing! Nothing but the toy of the chief! I hate it, Alfred! You’re hurting me! But hey, you achieved what you wanted! Good for you! And I seriously can’t give you anything else!” 

“I don’t want anything from you! I just want you to love me, Arthur. I don’t care about power, I just… I just want you, sugar. Come on, I’m sure this is some kind of misunderstanding…” 

“Alfred,” Arthur calls him. He looks at the other directly in the eye. “We’re over. Let’s forget about it and move on.”

“No,” says the other. “You’re… You’re gonna fucking regret trying to abandon me! And then… And then you’ll see your mistake! And you will stay by me! Right, Arthur?! Would you stay with me then?!!?” Alfred is growling now, unzipping his own trousers. He thrusts Arthur in the strongest way, angling the other’s hips so forcefully bruises start to appear. It isn’t even sex anymore, oh no. It’s violence. Pure and savage violence. Alfred pants, not of pleasure, but of something greater. He is so close Arthur smells the rum from his breath, the sweat of his warming body. 

“Listen… Listen to me, Arthur, all right? You’ll stay with me. You’ll stay by my side every single day for the rest of our lives, and you’ll keep being mine. And do you know why? Because I’m the only one that can protect you. You used to be great, but now you’re as helpless as a child, Arthur. Your body is getting weak. But don’t worry! I’ll be your hero, or… or you’ll suffer, Artie. You and Tino and Gilbert and Matthew… Every single one of you will suffer. Ya understand?”

 

Arthur does not object. 

 

ACT X

“You spend a lot of time with me now.” 

Peter is on the ground, drawing what seems to be a flower. While he says it, he pinches his index finger with a stick and blood flows through it. 

 

“Don’t do that!” Arthur exclaims. Peter merely smirks. 

“If not, how can I paint the rose?” he asks. Arthur stays silent. He knows well the opinion of the council about distractions like these. 

“Peter, do you like being in here?” 

Peter looks up at him. 

“Pardon?”  
“Are you comfortable in here? I mean— would you rather be in another place?” Arthur knows he is taking quite a risk, but he cannot help himself. Peter arches his eyebrow. 

“You want to leave?”  
“We’re not talking about me.” 

Peter doesn’t listen. These days, Arthur feels as if nobody does it anymore. 

“Arthur, it’s horrible out there. There’s death and walkers and all that crap.”  
“Hey! Watch the language!”  
Peter looks at him, confused. “Chief Alfred says that all the time.”

Arthur cannot reply to that. He bows his head in defeat. After some instants, he senses Peter eyeing him closely. 

“Has something happened?” the boy asks, and Arthur stares dead at him. Then, Peter turns to face completely his mentor. “Arthur, did they do something to you?” Arthur nods, and silence starts to rule the space. Arthur decides to speak again. 

“I don’t think this place is safe,” he says. “And I don’t want to be here anymore. Peter, listen to me. I’m… I’m going to leave soon.”

Peter’s eyes look at him surprised. 

“You can’t! Alfred won’t let you! Chief Alfred said no one was to leave unless they were exiled! And besides, he… he loves you! Why would you abandon him?” Arthur is not surprised by the position of the younger one, not when he knows the bond that unites the two of them. However, he doesn’t regret his decision. Arthur knows he’ll never forgive himself if he just left behind the kid. 

“Peter, I’ve made my decision. I want to leave. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen. I will not force you to follow me. If you’re happy here, I’ll respect it. So please, respect my choice and do not tell a thing to anyone,” the kid nods unsure, and Arthur kneels so they are both at the same height. “I am trusting you on this, lad.” 

For some time, Peter doesn’t seem to respond to him. Arthur expects the younger one to insult him, but instead, he receives a hug. He caresses the locks of blond hair from the kid, while he begins to let tears flow from his eyes. 

Peter notices this and wipes the tears from Arthur’s face with his thumb. 

“It’ll be hard,” Arthur says, taking a deep breath. “It’s been a long time since we were alone, so it will be hard,” he doesn’t want to frighten Peter, but Arthur doesn’t feel how lying to the boy would help on the current situation. 

Then Peter does a strange thing. He looks determined, even more than Arthur ever would. “Who says we have to be alone?” 

“Peter, what on Earth are you talking about?” Arthur demands, but Peter is not taken aback. 

“I mean, you are the Doc! A-And you know mostly everyone. I’m sure we can find a small group to help us. Ya know, people tired of the council.” 

Arthur wants to protest. He wants to tell Peter this isn’t a mere rebellion by the low powers, but of something greater. However, he is grateful the younger one is by his side, and is determined to use every possible offering help. Besides, there is no doubt having the young lad by his side would be useful, especially taking into account Ivan doesn’t seem to take his dagger-like eyes from the Englishman. 

A few minutes later, Kiku tells him he has to cover a shift in the shelter’s ‘hospital’. Arthur nods, stares at Peter one minute more than he should and they part. 

The hospital is boring, to say the least. The only real thing Arthur does there is write the stock list and distribute medicine to others. Before, it was entertaining, but given the council’s latest policies about the restricted use of medicines, few people come to him anymore. 

Heh. The council. Although he has not been officially dismissed, Arthur doesn’t bother to go to the reunions anymore. Why would he? He doesn’t have influences, and neither power to state his opinion. Besides, this way he doesn’t have to worry about Ivan beating his frame if he shows the slightest opposition to the decisions of the new right hand of the Chief, or in Alfred becoming aware of Arthur’s recent disgust for the American. 

When Alfred asked him about his departure, Arthur simply stated he was tired. Even though the American expressed his concern for him, he eagerly assigned Arthur his new position; that confined him to that dusty part of the shelter, conveniently closer to the Chief’s chamber.

 

Alfred has done it all on purpose, Arthur believes. He wants him to feel alone, to roam his thoughts over and over until he turns utterly mad himself, so the Chief can save the day once again. 

Arthur feels a throbbing pain in his chest, feels his insides twisting once he sits and a sharp pain roams through his body. 

Soon enough, Arthur can’t take it anymore and starts crying again. He is ashamed because he knows if someone enters they’ll have to see such a disastrous scene, but the pools of tears come so uncontrollably Arthur can’t get a hold of himself. The Englishman curses again and again as he remembers the details of his last encounter with Alfred, and grows so desperate he kicks the wall. He shouldn’t, Arthur knows, but he can’t help himself, and so he continues listening to the drumming of the breaking cement. Alfred seems to have forgotten about that night, or he is smart enough to put out an act so Arthur can feel everything was a mere fantasy, a delusion of the Englishman. Or maybe —maybe he wants Arthur to take pity on him, to excuse his behaviour for some drunken antics, and so he refuses to acknowledge the situation and, instead, continues being as charming as always with everyone else. 

Frightened, Arthur wonders how much time is left until he breaks, until he starts to think that way, in a manner of simply putting some reason before his thoughts. For a moment he thinks of Toris, of poor Toris, and begins to consider they are not so different after all. 

However, Arthur refuses to be like Toris. Because of this, he stumbles to the desk, grabs the notebook and writes down the correspondent inventory. When he finishes, he stares blankly at the paper, tilts his head, and grabs some medicine. After his round, he’ll go to the library, as Arthur is sure no one would be nearby. Then, he’ll hide the supplies. 

 

He doesn’t regret a thing out of it. Instead, his mind flies and he starts writing a different stock list, one that he’ll burn once he finishes clearing his mind. 

Whatever, it’s not like they’ll miss any of it either way. 

 

ACT XI  
Alfred used to have nightmares.  
At least, that’s what he told Arthur. The Englishman remembers the first night they ever slept together, the younger one trembling repeatedly. Arthur had to hold him tightly while assuring the American he was by his side until dawn governed the sky. 

Now, with Alfred sleeping so peacefully on his bed, Arthur wonders if it had all been an act. 

He stares thoughtfully at the American beside him. Arthur could kill him this instant. He would suffocate him with his own pillow, watching the last signs of Alfred’s lively self as life escapes his hold. He would suffer the same desperation Arthur felt, the same horrid turn of events. Oh, yes; Alfred would suffer every single one of his sins if Arthur would kill him now. 

But, as Arthur realises with a painful feeling, he won’t. He can kill Alfred, but he won’t do it. And, as much as Arthur keeps telling himself it’s because he knows the others would kill him if they knew what he’d done to the Chief, Arthur knows deep inside that’s not the real truth. 

For an instant, his mind reminds him of poor Toris. He knows it’s stupid, as they didn’t hold a friendly relationship at all. However, ever since Toris died in the front yard of their camp, Arthur has been losing his mind, thinking of every possible situation that would have led to the guy to die like that. 

They didn’t let him make an autopsy, and that alone tells him he’s right of his suspicions, but to what avail? Arthur isn’t great anymore, Alfred told him once. He was right. Arthur can’t save anyone, and either fight his own emotions, even when he knows it’ll be the best if he wants to carry out his plan and put an end to the golden demon’s life. 

No —Arthur is not foolish, but he won’t do it. Because he found that man, he befriended him, and he saved his life. Because he refuses to believe the boy he once knew is dead, even if that boy was a mere chimera Arthur saw in one of his unstable moments. 

Alfred is not a good man. Arthur is reminded of his French friend and silently apologises to Francis, if the other can hear him where he is now. Arthur asks himself how many people have gone by the same way, how many people has Alfred ‘sacrificed’ for a greater good. Arthur gets depressed instantly because he knows just how much these people would give for someone to avenge them —and yet, there he is. Incapable of killing the blue-eyed monster beside him. 

Arthur knows, when the time comes, he’ll have to do it. It is nearly impossible to go into a war without being abducted by its own savagery, but Arthur doesn’t care right now. He lies on the bed, next to his American bed mate, and sleeps soundly. 

Tomorrow, he won’t be able to do this, but at least for now he can dream one last time. 

ACT XII

Finally, Arthur wakes up. 

He starts to slowly flutter his eyes open. A few candles light the room he is placed into, so he can look at his surroundings. There isn’t much in here, apart from the chair he is tied to and a stool facing him. When he abruptly falls into the ultimate change of events, the Englishman starts breathing heavily. Memories of their escape, Kiku’s execution and the persecution of their group conquer Arthur, up to the point he feels utterly paralyzed. He dozes off, as if that would somehow rescue him from this sad reality when he feels someone poking him all to delicately. 

“Arthur.” 

Arthur looks down. He is embarrassed, and the only thing he wants to do right now is to fight back and offer some kind of resistance, but he just can’t. He can’t because he knows he has no choice but to obey. Arthur is human, and he doesn’t want to die. For the love of God, he doesn’t want to die tonight. 

When he tilts his head and observes his captor taking his sweet time scanning his figure, Arthur feels utterly miserable. 

“I took care of you, so don’t worry about your wounds. I told ‘em to be gentle with ya, but some folks don’t listen. I punished Lovi for it, either way. Now they’re preparing some meat for ya. Bet you’re hungry,” Alfred says, in a kind manner. Arthur stays silent for an instant, gathering all his strength left to ask the question that lurks from his mind. 

“Where are the others?” he dares to ask. He sees Alfred flinch. 

“They were traitors. They tried to escape. They robbed food and weapons and medicines.” 

“It wasn’t that much,” Arthur reasons. He has to be diplomatic right now. Alfred sighs, as if Arthur can’t understand what is really going on. 

“They tried to take ya away from me.”

Arthur knows something like that could happen. He had too much free time to think, to analyse every possible scenario that could come with his decision, so everything settles abnormally simply to him. 

When Alfred touches him, Arthur becomes aware for the first time that he is naked. He doesn’t feel flustered: Alfred has seen him like that before but feels unevenness once Alfred’s hand motions his skin, heating every inch of it. Arthur doesn’t protest, because a part of him thinks he deserves it —he caused all of it, the deaths of his dearest allies, all of it because of his selfish impulses, but when Alfred’s hand trails to his thigh, Arthur finds the courage to speak again. 

“Did it hurt?” when Alfred looks at him bewildered, Arthur has the nerve to continue. “When I butchered your leg as if you were a pig. You surely screamed like one, you did,” he feels defiant, he feels lost. He is destroying himself with this and he knows it, Arthur does. 

Alfred’s expression shifts, a light frown taking over his face. His other hand trails to Arthur’s neck, under an iron glance. 

“I guess Ivan was right when he told me it’d be the best if we killed you,” Alfred speaks casually, tightening his grip. His face is so near Arthur can feel the younger one’s breathing on his face. “But we can’t help it, can we? The poor man doesn’t know about love.” 

And Arthur wonders, for a second, what does Alfred really know about love. 

“Times have changed, Arthur, and you simply didn’t know how to adapt to it alone, so you isolated yourself. But it’s okay, honey; it’s okay. No one’s perfect, right? You’re just confused, aren’t ya? Don’t worry baby, you’ll be confused no more,” Alfred pets his cock, teasingly, as if awakening it. His suave fingers brush the member once again, letting his thumb run over the tip. “I thought ya were smart enough, darling; but oh, you weren’t,” the fingers all get a grip of his shaft, pumping him. Arthur’s hips buck forward, and Alfred pauses then. He lets his hand free from Arthur’s neck and turns caressing his thigh again. 

“So soft, baby, you’re too perfect. But then again, you can’t help yourself,” Alfred speaks as if he is lamenting something. His eyes suddenly turn to a dangerous iced blue. “You might try to escape again,” he says. Arthur is about to respond when Alfred pumps him once more, and a moan escapes from his lips. Alfred’s other hand is still examining his leg, nails digging curiously at the older male. Suddenly, Arthur’s eyes dart open, understanding the meaning behind the gesture. Alfred seems amused by his reaction. 

“You did ask how it felt, didn’t ya?” 

“No —oh, no, Alfred, please. Please, don’t. I’m sorry, I’ll —I’ll never do it again, I promise. Please, please, don’t do it,” Arthur doesn’t recognize his own desperation. Alfred hushes the Englishman, his thumb rubbing over his thin lips, and Arthur is quieted. 

“Ya remember what ya told me that day? Ya said —Ya told me I had to trust ya on this. I did, and ya saved me, Arthur. Why don’t you do the same thing now? You —you do trust me, sugar, don’t you?” for an instant, Alfred’s expression reminds him of the lovely lad he met so much time ago. Arthur breaks down, unable to hold his panic anymore. Alfred holds him, and Arthur is so confused he doesn’t feel the needle interrupting his thoughts anymore. 

ACT XIII  
After his recovery, Arthur is placed in a different room.  
He sleeps on the floor. Alfred says if he behaves he’ll have some of the rangers scavenge a mattress, but he warns it’ll take time —and it doesn’t help that all his attempts to maintain a conversation and shut down by Arthur’s insults and remarks. 

Arthur Kirkland never thought he’d become a cripple. He tries not to think about it too much —because he knows if he just does he’ll lose his mind— but it doesn’t help that, every time he wakes up, he seems to forget and looks down. 

And every time he is surprised when he doesn’t see legs there. 

Sometimes, Ivan comes to terrorize him by night. He lets himself in the cell, and whispers venomous words into Arthur’s ear, and Arthur every day is more sure the other must be some kind of demon. Arthur also thinks he is poisoning his food —Ivan tells him he would’ve killed him by now if it wasn’t for The Chief, and Arthur prefers starving himself than let the bloody Russian win. 

Sometimes, Arthur wonders what did he do wrong. He prays, he prays to God, but the highness doesn’t listen —why would he even distract himself to pay attention to the Englishman, when God himself has listed Arthur as the type of person that deserves hell? 

But the worst part of his cell is not the lack of mattress or the chains. Neither it is the smell of urine, or the own filth creeping towards Arthur’s self. The worst, the worst part of all, is the window. 

It might not be a window per se —the Chief isn’t stupid, after all. It’s a window for ventilation, so Arthur won’t be asphyxiated in that damned basement, too small to Arthur to pass by, and too far so Arthur can reach it.

And the worst part of all is the light that comes by. That insufferable light that makes him stare, that reminds him of what is out there, and of who he is. Or he was. Arthur doesn’t remember anymore —it doesn’t matter if he does, however, because that won’t change a thing. So, for his own sake, he pretends he is something he’s not. He pretends he’s in wonderland, talking to the white rabbit and having tea parties with the Mad hatter while he sips his own dirty drink. 

It is much better that way. 

And when Alfred comes, he fucks him. He doesn’t even look at Arthur anymore, yet he still angles his hips so Arthur can get the most pleasure out of it. After some time, Arthur starts to appreciate the gesture, facing a tiny smile and the other. 

And Alfred smiles so brightly Arthur can’t help the warmth that crosses through his body. Those days are the best, because then something better happens —it might be Alfred giving him a new blanket, or a chocolate bar arriving with his meal, but it’s always a something. A something that turns Arthur’s darkest time upside down. 

You see, when you have nothing left to lose —when everything’s so broken, so wrong you don’t even have strength to think about it, you get lost. Then, Arthur thinks, everything becomes blurry. He has glimpses of memories, but the happy times feel so alien he doesn’t even recognize himself. So when, on some indefinite day in the future, Alfred comes with that boyish grin of his on his face and a table game, Arthur feels absurdly happy to find some distraction from his thoughts. 

And when Alfred teaches him —tells him to repeat the names until he pronounces them correctly, and babbles about the function of each one, Arthur feels mesmerized and follows the other’s enthusiasm. 

And when, after a round of practice, Arthur is so interested he asks Alfred to play the real game, they both engage in the activity for what it seems like an eternity. 

And when, hours later, the Queen is taken away —a brilliant movement, as the King is helpless to the Blacks, Alfred takes the figurine between his hands, toying with it, as he jerks closer with a smile on his face, revealing his pearly teeth. 

“I won,” he says. And he isn’t wrong at all.

**Author's Note:**

> So sorry this ended up being so long. It really wasn't planned, but I'd rather keep it as a one-shot. Heh, I hope you liked it. 
> 
> ***
> 
> Roses are red,  
> Violets are blue,  
> This author loves kudos,  
> They enjoy reviews, too.


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